


Rite of Spring

by GettingOverGreta



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, if you go down in the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettingOverGreta/pseuds/GettingOverGreta
Summary: Feeling strained in her role as queen, Daenerys Targaryen learns about an ancient tradition among the smallfolk and decides to indulge herself. She expects a liaison with a stranger, but the man who finds her in the woods is familiar indeed.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83





	Rite of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Idk, this just sort of happened. We will politely pretend the Kingswood is a lot more conveniently located than it probably is.

Daenerys slips the mask over her features, tucking away her hair beneath a scarf. She had to restrain herself from laughing when she was told about this particular tradition in this part of Westeros - chasing “maidens” through the Kingswood for an anonymous coupling - though it might, admittedly, become less anonymous afterwards. Something to do with fertility and spring and deeply frowned upon by the High Septon, a factor which seemed to nudge Daenerys from thinking it silly to favoring the continuation of the ridiculous event. While she ostensibly worships the Seven, the beliefs of her Dothraki had been the first faith with which she’d been truly at home, and aspects of the faith of the Seven feel a bit fussy to her now.

Regardless of her political position, it is certainly the case that no queen would ever participate. The queen is too important, has far too much dignity, cannot risk being thought _impure_ (even though she is a widow and has plainly had two lovers since then). Daenerys Targaryen however, grew up with an older brother who never allowed her to do anything, and as a result, she is an expert at sneaking off to places that she was not supposed to be.

Which is why she is slipping off to the Kingswood in the cover of night, because she has not had a lover in over a year, she has found a mask that will conceal her delicate features, and the temptation is frankly, more than she can take. Her skills have improved since girlhood, as she has now figured out how to include a horse in her escape plans. 

Daenerys joins a crowd of women, shrieking with joy and anticipation as they dash into the woods. There are paths lit with lanterns, from which they can stray to hide and await a man for a hopefully enjoyable joining in the darkened woods. She chooses a place from which she can easily find her way back to the palace gate from which she slipped, and waits.

The men enter the woods, masked as well, singing an old song and cheering. Daenerys clings to the tree at her back, her heart racing so loudly that she thinks it could be heard over the music. Men run past her, not even noticing her slight form. Frustrating, but she supposes that means she will capture one that is more discerning, more observant.

A branch snaps to her left. She sincerely hopes it is a man, and not a wild boar. 

An arm comes around her waist, and Daenerys gasps, already feeling the stirrings of arousal between her thighs. The woods are dark, but in the moonlight she can make out that he is tall, certainly strong. A mouth meets hers, kissing her with passion, and she wraps her arms around his neck. His lips are warm, his tongue warmer still, and just as she starts to melt, she realizes that he is something else.

_Familiar._

She has never kissed this man - certainly not like this - but she knows it is him. She would know the smell of his skin and sweat in the darkest room. Perhaps this is why he did not speak, and break the spell of the woods.

Daenerys knows she should be cross with her bear knight, but she supposes she should have known that he would notice her scheming. Jorah is so attuned to her ways that at times it feels like he can read her thoughts.

She should still be cross with him, because he is kissing her, and it is not appropriate, but she is kissing him back even though she knows him, because he kisses like a dream and he tastes like mead, all of which is the perfect balm to her recklessness.

Jorah has also shaved his beard, and she will find a way to tease him about that later. She strokes her hands down his cheeks and grins, before nipping his bottom lip again.

“Such a sweet bear,” she purrs, as Jorah’s mouth trails along her jaw, meandering down her neck. “I suppose I should not be surprised to find him in the woods.”

“He is certainly surprised to find you,” Jorah murmurs, “But then he’s always had a taste for the finest honey.” Daenerys gasps softly at that, at Jorah reaching beneath the skirt of the simple gown she is wearing and groping his way up her thigh until he reaches a nest of curls.

Daenerys knows he must have observed the lack of smallclothes, but she wanted no impediments to her pleasure tonight. His fingers slide easily through her wetness, making her breathe harder as he rubs the little pearl at her apex, dipping inside her as casually as he might trail his hand through a fountain in the garden. It feels wonderful, especially as he holds her against the tree with his arm, his hand slipped into her dress to toy with her breast. And yet...

“I did not come here for your hand,” she whispers hotly. Daenerys has stood before her people unburnt and nude, and so it is nothing to turn away to let a man who knows her better than any other unlace her gown and slide it down her form.

When she thinks about it, that Ser Jorah has seen her nude - and bent the knee both times - is a bit strange. He kneels again now, but it is to trail his mouth along her back, to nearly pull her sex onto his mouth. 

“Fuck,” she gasps, not even faintly regal at the moment. The tree is rough and she tries to find purchase. Jorah’s mouth is as wonderful above as below, but still, this isn’t what she wants.

She turns, his hands holding her hips, and tangles her hand in his hair as he rises to taste her once more, his tongue laving over her most sensitive spots. So good, but still not enough.

“Lie back,” Daenerys orders. There are privileges to being the queen. Jorah obeys, and she notes that he has thoughtfully worn a cloak, giving her a place to rest her knees as she straddles him. She releases him from his breeches, not even giving him the time to remove any clothing, and has a wicked thought of taking him in her mouth. Since that would only delay her ambitions for the night, it will wait for another time.

(Because there will likely be another time, if he can fuck like he kisses, she’s hopeless that way.)

Taking hold of his cock, she just slips him inside her, and slowly eases her way down, letting her hips rise and fall as her body accommodates him. (She had hoped that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel quite right, that the stretch would be too much, or the length unsatisfying but no, of course it isn’t, and she’s let an answer to her tightly wound tension sit idle for _months_ because she had to be queenly.) When she feels properly seated she starts moving, Jorah himself almost forgotten as she focuses on her ride, on making sure to seek contact with that precious little nub of flesh as she drives her hips forward, one hand planted on his chest. She’s perfected her technique over the years, and she’s sure Jorah can see the way her pale body undulates in the dappled moonlight. His hands trace the curves of her breasts, sliding over her waist until he finally rests his hands on her thighs, gently using his strength to support her rhythm. Daenerys moans as she realizes that he understands how she needs control of this, of them, this tender subject that she has tried to push aside for so long.

She hears an answering cry, and then realizes she can hear a near chorus of cries of pleasure and blissful sighs, men’s and women’s voices echoing through the forest. Her rhythm turns more urgent, but it isn’t quite enough, and she slows again, pleased to note Jorah is keeping up with her, giving her only small movements instead of trying to force more intensity from her. (He could wrestle her onto her back quite easily, she thinks she might like it if he did, but not tonight.) A soft, sweet crest rises after a bit more time, but it doesn’t feel like enough, and Jorah betrays no urgent need of his own, so Daenerys gives herself a moment to recover, leaning down to have more of his heated kisses, gasping as he briefly tugs her breast into his mouth as she pulls away.

Her conquest turns more frenzied now, her hips rocking back and forth eagerly, almost out of her control. She wishes she could see Jorah’s face, the adoration she knows will be there. Her own mask feels too hot and confining now, the scarf concealing her hair is soaking at her nape with sweat, but she would have to stop moving to remove any of it, and she cannot. Jorah grips her hips firmly, his own thrusts still small to keep her on balance but matching her rhythm, turning into something deeper, something feral that belongs in the woods.

Daenerys feels the wave of her true peak forming, but nonetheless when it arrives she cries out, unable to find words, almost shocked at the force of pleasure that seems to reach her very fingers and toes. She feels like she might cry, then she laughs, and tips forward to claim Jorah’s mouth again.

He strokes her back and her flanks, kisses the heated skin he can reach, and now the way he moves within her is more insistent, though she is now so wet it barely matters how he fucks her.

“Finish inside me, ser, or not at all,” she almost growls to him, because she wants to feel him fall apart, as he’s just watched and felt her lose herself in rapture. Jorah doesn’t need to be told twice, he takes hold of his queen and drives his cock deeply inside her from below, taking his pleasure with gritted teeth. Daenerys thinks she’d rather hear his voice, but if he slips, if he uses her name or calls her _khaleesi_ , everything would be ruined, so she will take his halted groans and carve out a place for her to remember them later. Finally, Jorah trembles, and Daenerys sighs as she can feel the hot rush of his seed filling her. It is a fertility rite, after all, even if she doubts there is any magic in it. They are all just common people tonight, seeking a delicious thrill in the darkness. Jorah gives her a lingering kiss and she rests for a moment on his chest, cool night air licking at her skin.

“Let’s get you back,” he murmurs, and Daenerys nods, accepting his help in redressing in the simple gown and slippers that she had worn to join the smallfolk frolicking in the woods. They leave the other merrymakers behind, many of whom will drink mead and carouse until dawn. She ignores the slippery feeling around her thighs (because it will come to nothing and she doesn’t want to think about why that hurts a little) as well as the realization that riding on horseback after a rather vigorous coupling is not a part of her earlier life that she wanted to relive, and shows Jorah the path she took from the Red Keep. Once their horses are sorted, she leads him to the small door where she had crept out. Jorah is impressed with her ingenuity, and she can tell from his expression that he is absolutely going to have that door sealed off.

Such a strange night, but perhaps she would like more, under another moon, in a softer bed. For now she will retire alone, and be the queen again.

“I’m glad it was you,” Daenerys says softly, and steals one last kiss from her knight before she slips inside and pulls off her mask. She presses her hands back against the door and smiles, almost bursting into laughter, but she cannot do that before she reaches her chambers, so she hurries along until she is safe from the night’s spirits again.


End file.
